


Exoneration

by RealityPhobia



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityPhobia/pseuds/RealityPhobia
Summary: Rhys is a literal genie, and Jack sees all of the possibilities.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lasciel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciel/gifts).



> A piece I put on tumblr some months back. This posting requested by lasciel, whose work you should 1000% read if you haven't yet.

“You’ve got two wishes left,” Rhys said, after he’d signed the very thorough contract Jack’s lawyers had drawn up for his wish. It had taken hours to sort everything out and close any loopholes in the wording or interpretation. Rhys would have been offended at the blatant distrust if he hadn’t screwed over several hundred people in the past millennium. But Jack wasn’t like the others.

Most wishes Rhys fulfilled were wishes for power, money, or lust. Objects and playthings and status, all for whatever schmuck dug him out of the dirt. Some people were more creative than others, tried to bend the rules, but that just gave Rhys more wiggle room to retaliate. In the early days, he’d orchestrated deaths, hoping that severing their contract early would leave him free to roam outside of his lamp. It hadn’t worked. Luckily, three wishes worth of loopholes was a lot of space to work off his frustration.

Unlimited cosmic power, and they all thought so small. Jack was different, though. Jack was better. Rhys knew it the minute he’d set eyes on him, the minute Jack had killed his previous “master” and took ownership of his power. He’d re-materialized, the body still warm on the ground beside him, and looked up into Jack’s face, lit by an unfamiliar moon. There had been consideration there. Thought. A smile that stretched wide and pleased, and lazy, glinting eyes. Rhys had made kings that were less self-assured, less convinced of their victory. For the first time in ages, he wanted a wish for himself, if only so he could witness what Jack would do with his power.

When a man already has everything, what does he wish for?

“These are fantastic, kiddo. Way better than that crappy vending machine stuff.”

Fucking pretzels, apparently. Rhys shifted in front of the dais, attempting to keep his typical servile expression. This was, by far, the stupidest wish he’d ever granted. And Jack talked with his mouth full, which made it even worse.

“Y’know, I had my doubts about his magic stuff, but do you know how hard it is to get something edible up here? Even with my excessive amount of cash,” he shoved another giant fistful of pretzels into his face, “—and I have so much cash, pumpkin, you don’t even know—it’s impossible to get snacks that don’t taste like shit.”

“Rhys.” He didn’t usually offer his name, but if he was going to be signing contracts anyway, he might as well. Plus, the pet names were getting annoying.

“Gesundheit.”

Rhys sighed. “It’s my name. Rhys.”

Jack laughed and sprayed crumbs everywhere. “What kind of genie name is that?” He put on a snooty accent. “My name is Rhys and I won’t grant more than three wishes.”

“Not ‘won’t.’ I physically can’t. We just went over this.” Jack had been like a dog with a bone about it for a good hour while the final contract was being drawn up. It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense, Rhys had told him. Those were the rules and his hands were tied. Both literally and figuratively. Rhys rubbed at the disconnected shackles around his wrists absently. They’d never stopped chafing, even after all the time that had passed.

Jack’s eyes flicked down to his shackles, following his movement, and fixed there for a moment. “We’ll figure something out,” he said with the ease of someone used to getting his own way. “In the meantime, let’s start thinking about that second wish, huh, cupcake?” Jack made eye contact and Rhys forgot about the stupid pretzels. He was reminded of the image Jack had cut against the purple alien light when he’d first summoned him, standing with legs apart and gun drawn in front of his desk, eyes almost glowing in the shadows.

His eyes glowed like that now, or maybe they’d never stopped, and the giant puckered scar of the moon framed his head like a halo. Jack stroked a finger down the gleaming silver of his lamp and grinned, the light cutting new angles across his mask. A shiver went down Rhys’s spine, from fear or something else he couldn’t tell.

“I’ve got a lot of ideas for you, Rhys. If we’re lucky I’m only gonna need one more wish, and hey, if you’re good I might even see if I can do anything about your fancy bracelets there.”

Rhys twisted his shackles again. It was a lie. He knew it was a lie. There was only one thing that could free him, and Jack wasn’t the sort of man to pass up on the nearly-unlimited power of a wish.

But Jack was special, he could feel it. It would make his millennia of service worth it, just for the show.

He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled. “What is your wish?”


End file.
